


Stick Shift

by SmutKeeper



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale Has a Vulva (Good Omens), Body Horror, Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, Crowley Has a Penis (Good Omens), Detachable Dick, Dubious Consent, M/M, Overstimulation, Sex Toys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-21
Updated: 2020-11-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 07:34:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27659564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SmutKeeper/pseuds/SmutKeeper
Summary: Crowley left something of his in the Bentley's glovebox. It wasn't intentional, no matter what Aziraphale might think. But he is more than willing to go along for the ride.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 44
Kudos: 282
Collections: Good Omens Kink Meme





	Stick Shift

**Author's Note:**

> Fill for [this prompt](https://good-omens-kink.dreamwidth.org/3161.html?thread=1649241) on the Good Omens Kink Meme.
> 
> I'm so sorry? I'm so sorry. It was time to write some levity!

It had become more or less a standard practice for Crowley to do this ever since the antichrist was born and he and Aziraphale were constantly under each other’s feet and increasingly under each other’s skin. Being around each other all the time had exacerbated a longstanding problem that was normally an inconvenience but not otherwise notable. Until Aziraphale had ample opportunities to notice. Crowley knew he was attracted to Aziraphale—that wasn’t news, probably not even to the angel, but he only had so much patience and self control. So Crowley had to do something.

Before the whole godfathers thing, it wasn’t like they were ever around each other enough for it to be a real issue; maybe a time or two every few years, or months. But when it became a multi-week or even multi- _day_ occurrence, something had to be done. And Crowley wasn’t about to switch to an effort he didn’t currently want to wear, or no effort at all, and so he got creative with it. It still felt right to keep his effort, a cock and balls and all the sensitive feelings it brought, but just put the most visible bit somewhere else where it wouldn’t become a whole _thing_ if Aziraphale got him worked up. It wasn’t exactly like Crowley’s pants or skirts left much to the imagination. Honestly, it was the perfect solution. He was very happy with himself.

And so even after the whole godfathers schtick, he just kept doing it, until it became second nature. Sending his effort off for safekeeping in a secure location whenever he and Aziraphale planned to go to dinners turned out to be a fantastic plan. Aziraphale could squirm and sigh and make as many little joyful noises as he pleased, and Crowley could openly enjoy their meal just as much with nothing to give him away. It was perfect—he should have been doing this since Rome.

Aziraphale was polishing off the cream on his dessert spoon when Crowley’s pocket began to ping rather obnoxiously. Other restaurant patrons looked over their shoulders in irritation. Crowley raised an eyebrow at them in return.

“It would seem someone is trying very hard to get your attention,” Aziraphale pointed out as Crowley continued to ignore the chime.

Something was indeed working very hard, but it wasn’t whoever was lighting up Crowley’s phone. He shrugged.

“Nah, it’s just the custom ring from Hell. Assignment alert, nothing serious. If they wanted my attention they’d be far less subtle about it.”

The phone gave a loud, gravelly croak, not unlike a toad’s death throe. And then it fell silent.

Aziraphale set down his spoon and sighed. “Of course. Wouldn’t want to be conspicuous, now would we.”

Crowley tried not to feel too disappointed that it seemed dinner had come to an official end. Reaching into his pocket, he flipped open his mobile and checked to see the notification that had cut his night short.

“Just a temptation of some business executive, a stone's throw away. He’s probably already on the wrong track without my help, if that’s his career.” He thought for a minute, then grimaced. “Haven’t sent much in my reports lately, though. Suppose it couldn’t hurt to see this one through.”

“Oh, I see. I suppose you’ll be off, then?”

“Better be. It’s not far from here, so I can just pop over on foot. Have the Bentley take you back to the shop.”

“That would be just lovely, thank you.”

Crowley scowled performatively, which Aziraphale ignored with practiced ease. That rankled more than the actual thanks, in Crowley’s opinion. Smug bastard.

Crowley flashed his card and paid for the meal, then nudged Aziraphale along and out to the street. He opened the passenger side door to the Bentley only to make the point that there would be no funny ideas about getting behind the wheel. For no other reason.

“It’ll take you right back to the shop. I’ll either come by tomorrow to pick it up, or you can send it back along to me.”

Aziraphale chewed his lip thoughtfully. “Well, if you do come by, perhaps we could finish our discussion from earlier. And, of course, it would be improper of me to just give you back your means of getting around to get up to whatever it is you get up to. No, I don’t think I shall.”

“Sure, if that’s how you want to spin it,” Crowley allowed.

Aziraphale flashed him a quick smile. “Let’s hope it’s a better chauffeur than a particular demon I know.”

Crowley preened at the presumption. “Wouldn’t count on it,” he assured goodnaturedly, closing the door and giving a mock salute. “Have a fun ride, angel.”

The Bentley pulled away from the curb and into the flow of traffic, and Crowley watched with affected nonchalance as he saw it begin to pick up speed. It was a short drive from the restaurant to the bookshop. They couldn’t get up to too much trouble in that span of time.

Crowley, however, had the entire rest of the night to get up to some trouble. So if he wanted to get any sleep, he had better start on it now. Checking the address once more on his phone, he turned on his heels and began to walk away, already deep into plotting just how he might go about wrapping up the assignment with time to spare.

It didn’t even occur to him that he might have forgotten something important.

* * *

As the Bentley swerved nauseatingly quickly, Aziraphale heard the glove compartment rattle, which was then followed by a muted _thud!_ that drove him to distraction; and, as he was looking precisely for any distraction from this horrid driving, he reached in to fumble for whatever had surely been broken.

His fingers slid across a dozen smooth, cool objects—accurately surmised to be Crowley’s many pairs of glasses—but was brought up short when his fingers brushed up against something distinctly warmer and giving _._ His fingers wrapped tentatively around it. Drew it out. Stared in stupefied horror.

“What on earth…”

The… the toy—the very warm, very soft, very _realistic_ toy—it twitched in his palm. It lengthened, stiffened, and Aziraphale would be seeing stars if he weren’t so busy catching flies.

Abruptly, the Bentley came to a stop. Aziraphale tore his gaze away from the toy to see the front of the bookshop. What he should do now is put the toy back, go inside, and pretend he’d never found it. But well, Crowley had said he wouldn’t be coming for the Bentley until tomorrow. So it wasn’t as if he would know if, for some unexplained reason, the toy wasn't in the glovebox in which he’d left it for the night.

Aziraphale set the toy in his lap. It was really very warm. Lifelike. He cautiously ran his finger over the tip, and it twitched in an amazing approximation of eager desire. Oh dear.

It would be back in the glovebox by the morning, Aziraphale vowed, and exited the car.

* * *

Crowley was standing at the back of the cinema, scanning the attendees for his mark when he felt himself being taken by the cock by an unseen hand.

He slammed his shoulders against the wall, heart hammering in his chest and knees buckling hard. It wasn’t quiet, and several annoyed shushes were aimed in his direction, though the plot onscreen was diverting and their joint focuses were soon redirected. They probably thought he was some drunk, which was fine—close enough to how his head was spinning, anyways.

He wasn’t an idiot. As soon as he could bring himself to focus, he realized what must have happened. He only ever entrusted the effort he wasn’t wearing to one place. The Bentley only ever allowed himself and one other inside, and thus it didn’t take much to put two and two together. Aziraphale had found it. And he hadn’t let it go. Holy shit.

Options, options. Now he had to figure out his options. Because if he miracled his cock back on his person, as he should well have done right after dinner, then it would be very clear that he immediately knew what Aziraphale had found, and they would both have to live with the absolute humiliation of that acknowledgement, which—nope, definitely didn’t want to do that.

Second option would then be to just leave it and pretend he didn’t know. Aziraphale could probably rationalize away what he’d picked up—he was too buttoned up to ask outright, Crowley was sure. So it was a reasonable assumption that neither of them would ever have to acknowledge this. And that was maybe tolerable.

But that last option was also contingent on the notion that Aziraphale would put the bloody thing _back_.

In a cinema far removed, he could feel the heat of Aziraphale’s soft palm holding his cock as it filled and grew, because how could it not when he knew Aziraphale held it. He might well discorporate long before he ever had to face the angel again. Maybe that would be mercy.

And that was before he felt Aziraphale lightly stroke the head.

A loud explosion erupted across the screen, startling the moviegoers who had been deeply engrossed in the previously polite political drama. In the bafflement that followed, from the dissonant cast and audience alike, Crowley made a strategic exit.

He’d figure out how to spin it to Hell later.

* * *

Aziraphale laid the toy in the center of the newly cleaned duvet, in the newly cleaned bedroom that he had not used in decades for anything other than storage. Which he was now going to use for sex. That was about the sum whole of it.

This toy was a work of art if Aziraphale had ever seen one. It obviously had Crowley's demonic signature all over it—Aziraphale may not go out of his way to update himself with it, but that didn't mean he was unaware of the growth and limitations of modern technology. He was most certain that humans had yet to create something this…intricate. And reactive. So this was Crowley's own creation, and that only made it all the more enticing.

Like any organic phallus, it calmed in the absence of stimulation. It fascinated Aziraphale endlessly to be able to stroke it back to full hardness. It was blood hot and strained in his grasp. He couldn't wait to see if it felt just as realistic buried deep inside of himself, but he also wanted to be patient. This may be the only time he found himself in this position, and he would be a fool to rush it. To not savor it.

He kept that in mind as he undid his waistcoat, shirt, and trousers and set them all aside. He crawled up onto the bed and took the toy back in hand. It pulsed in his grip as he swept his thumb along the underside vein, drinking in every twitch with hungry eyes. This toy was obviously well loved by his demon. He hoped that he too might feel the same, at the end of this.

Not that Crowley didn’t make him feel that way on a regular basis. They both knew, or at least Aziraphale hoped they both knew, how they…felt for one another. But knowing and telling were two entirely different animals. And well, that wasn’t a possibility for them.

Aziraphale paused in his slow torment of the toy. Unless. Unless that was exactly what Crowley was doing. He’d always been good about saying what he felt without words; with chocolates and wines and favors he never really owed. So it was entirely plausible that he had known—had _planned_ , even, for Aziraphale to find this. Oh, clever, clever, Crowley, it all made so much more sense!

Reassured, Aziraphale wasted no more time in setting in with his back supported by pillows and blankets nestled in around his sides. He brought the toy to rest on his stomach as he did away with the last remaining item of clothing. Pants now cast aside, the exposure to the air made the situation feel all the more real. Goodness, well it _had_ been a while since he sought to please himself in this fashion. Still the atmosphere held a certain weight to it that he’d never experienced before—almost as if it were the first time.

Feeling quite silly for the racing of his rabbit heart and the toy that rested atop it, Aziraphale swept his hands over his thighs in soothing, broad strokes. When he felt steadied, one hand dipped between his spread legs to run along the dampening seam between, while the other took the toy so that he could bring it up to his lips.

If he was doing this, he ought to go all in.

* * *

The myriad of sensations Crowley was subjected to in the time it took to leave the theater to the time he stumbled jelly-legged into his flat were harrowing. He threw his fogged glasses on the office desk without once looking in its direction, hands grappling at the walls in his attempt to keep upright. The only thoughts running through his head besides the litany of swearing were _bedroom, bedroom, bedroom_ and _who the fuck blows a strange dick found in a glovebox_.

At least Aziraphale had the common sense to _wash_ said dick before doing so—as absolutely shocking of a sensation that was.

Not nearly as shocking as what was clearly happening to it now. Crowley panted heavily as he finally made it to his bedroom and threw himself into his bed. Removing clothing was an absolute imperative, and so he went to disappear them with a snap. Free of restriction, he could finally—he could…

 _Well, shit_.

He dropped his hand so that it fell back to the mattress by his head. He stared at the ceiling blankly as the realization settled in that he couldn’t do _anything_ in this situation. He could neither use his hand, or thrust his hips, or else in any way control the arduously slow pace Aziraphale had taken with him. His choices were the same as they’d been before: either let on that he knew, or take it as is.

Aziraphale’s tongue took him by surprise when it trilled beneath the head. He gasped and curled his hands into tight fists. It felt so bloody fucking amazing. There was no way he would let it end now. This was Aziraphale in the way he’d always wanted them to be. Maybe not these circumstances, but _intimate_. His heart felt full to bursting at the novelty. He could _have this_. But it wasn’t the right way.

“Ah, bugger it all,” Crowley lamented to the empty room, hips twisting and thrusting to no avail. “I’m going to have to tell him.”

* * *

Aziraphale was more than elated to discover the toy, as lifelike in look and touch as it was, took on the same attention to detail in regards to taste. He might have only intended to prepare the toy with slick while giving his erstwhile hand time to coax his own body to the same end, but he was enamored with this discovery. This gift Crowley had given him was so far beyond what he thought capable. And because of it, it was so easy to get lost in the fantasy of hope. His chest was warm with it. This was what Crowley was offering. So close to the real thing.

So close to Crowley.

With a groan, Aziraphale released the straining, reddened toy and brought it down to join where his wet fingers held his sex open. He dragged the flared head across that space, pleased with the warmth it exuded, and then dipped it inside just so the head could be swallowed whole. There it remained while a breathy gasp escaped Aziraphale's bitten lips.

"Oh, Crowley," Aziraphale whined, then painstakingly plunged the toy deep inside.

* * *

Crowley curled in on himself like a worm left in the sun. He panted and moaned as he felt his cock being constricted by tight, wet heat. It was a different torment to Aziraphale's mouth—as mind-blowingly amazing as that was—in that he felt completely kept. The slick muscles that held him flexed and relaxed in a pulsing rhythm. He ached desperately to move more than the tantalizingly incremental shifts.

Aziraphale must...must be adjusting. To having Crowley's cock inside him. _Holy fuck, Crowley was inside him._ He unfurled his folded arms just far enough so that he could grope at the head of the bed for a pillow that he then crushed between his thighs. With no cock to confine, the tight pants and the pressure of the pillow lended themselves to grind against. Not nearly relief enough, but still Crowley's hips pistoned in pursuit of imagined pleasure. Eyes clamped shut, it was more than easy to slip into the fantasy of seeing Aziraphale spread out in his bed, thick legs wrapped around his boney hips, with the angel's face pinched in concentration and arousal.

Crowley's hips ground harder and the tide of his climax crested with shocking speed. In his mind, he watched as his pulsating cock emptied deep into the hot depths of Aziraphale's body, with aftershocks that pulled taut the muscles of his abdomen and thighs. He moaned brokenly. The Aziraphale in this scene echoed his cry.

The dream shattered when Crowley felt his cock begin to be moved in an increasingly steady rhythm. Alarmed, he realized just how quickly he lost control, and how very unlikely a hedonist like Aziraphale was anywhere close to done with him.

He ran a shaking hand through his ruffled hair. His cock, while it had initially begun to soften, thickened out again. He felt overestimated, but it still felt _good_. He'd make sure that this was good for his angel, too.

With a snap, he banished his clothes and settled back. All he had to do was stay hard until Aziraphale was done with him. And then he would call, and they would figure this out together. It would be great.

Just had to hold out until then.

* * *

When Aziraphale felt the toy inside him give a sudden lurch, he was shocked. His inner walls clamped down in retaliation when it squirmed, but it only further set his insides alight, and so he held the toy steady with one hand while his other pet his clit. Shaky fingers skimmed lower to collect slick on each tip, then circled and teased the stiffened bump in turn. Aziraphale shuddered and his legs trembled. Goodness, he was already so very close.

But then a moment passed, and the toy seemed to lose some of its rigidity. Lack of stimulation. Right, an easy fix.

Without preamble, he eased the toy in and out like with clockwork accuracy. The toy once again grew stiff and feeling it do so within his body made Aziraphale's breath stutter and catch. The pace of both his hands sped up, emboldened by the reaction, and It only took one frantically deep thrust before his entire body clenched in pleasure.

The toy responded similarly, twitching strongly while Aziraphale held it in a vice. All the while he continued to work himself over with the circling of his clit—shuddering anew with each completed circuit. It was one of the strongest orgasms he could recall having had. Left him quite winded.

On the way down from his peak, Aziraphale basked in the remaining euphoria and was grateful. He felt incredible, taken care of, and so very much thankful for Crowley's gift and forethought. He let it swell inside his heart, and then disperse, so that he floated on the last ebbs of contentment.

The lassitude lasted for a few seconds. And then the desire returned. There was still more than enough time left to tonight. A couple more times would be enough to satisfy. Surely.

Just a few more wouldn't hurt.

* * *

By the sixth round, Crowley was well beyond his endurance.

“Oh Satan, he’s going for it again, _how can he be going again_ ,” Crowley whined, heels digging into the mattress, trying to wriggle his hips away from the sensations that he had no chance of escaping. Sheets were fisted and unclenched in rapid succession as he fought to ground himself in the reality he occupied and not the fantasy that played him.

He'd had to start miracling himself hard four orgasms ago. Did he still feel good at this point was a non-question. He was so overstimulated and he felt melted to the quick, sputtering weakly as his body fought to give up the ghost. It was visceral. _Wonderful_.

And then finally, it ended.

Crowley laid in an exhausted, sweaty heap. Aziraphale had taken his cock and miracled it clean and dry. He shivered as the angel tucked it away, in some sort of cloth, and then nothing. So that was that.

Only when Crowley was certain the event was over did he attempt to corral his bucking legs, throw on a robe, and stumble into the living area. He tracked down his coat hanging by a cuff on an end table and fished for his mobile. While the outgoing call tone chimed in his ear, he took that time to find a wall to lean into for support since his knees didn’t feel yet up to the task.

“This is Aziraphale speaking,” said Aziraphale, already prim and proper and not at all like he’d just fucked the daylights out of himself on a mysterious cock found in a glovebox. Impressive, really. Crowley was impressed. Would be, at any rate, if he’d had any brains left to be impressed with.

By way of greeting he said, “You should really take a bloke to dinner first.”

“Crowley? I beg your pardon?”

Crowley muffled a hysterical laugh into his sleeve. Instead of elaborating, he tittered, “Did you have a nice night, angel? I know I did.”

“Wh-why would _you_ have? I mean, for me it was a perfectly pleasa—perfectly enlightening night. I must say, the, erm, gift—” And Aziraphale, well, he was really very clever. He connected the dots. And Crowley had no chance of hiding the hilarity he felt at Aziraphales quietly horrified, “No. Oh no, Crowley, you _didn’t_.”

“It’s not _my_ fault you take objects from other people’s cars and _put them in—”_

The noise Aziraphale made was so distressed, and if Crowley’s head wasn’t floating a foot above his shoulders he might have had the sense to pity him. As it was, it only set him laughing harder.

“A toy, I thought it was a _toy!”_ he cried.

“It was not!” Crowley sang out.

“I never would have—oh, I never _should_ have, even if I thought—Crowley, I cannot begin to tell you how desperately sorry I—”

“Angel, angel, angel, let me cut you off there. I don’t want your apologies.” And the pleading did cease. In the quiet that spanned, Crowley labored to catch his breath. A giggle or two bubbled and burst between the crackles of static, but otherwise, he waited.

Aziraphale finally found his resolve to ask, “What can I do?”

“I told you, I want you to take me to dinner.”

“...what?”

“You heard me.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I was thinking tomorrow. Anywhere you want to go. I know you’re already _very_ full, perhaps enough for a long while, but you’ll make the effort for me. Won’t you, angel? After all, I’ve already done it for you.” Silence followed. “Do you understand me, Aziraphale?”

“You can’t mean—what I think you’re implying. I’ve-I’ve _violated_ —” and the quibble in his voice just couldn’t be left to stand.

“If you think for a single second that I would have allowed that to continue with just anyone, you’re mad. I knew it was you. I enjoyed it.”

“But you didn’t _consent_.”

“Neither did you, really. Only I knew what was going on, you were the one in control—whose to say where the fault should fall, hm?”

“To the one in control, I should think!”

Crowley leaned his forehead against the cool wall and closed his eyes. “I wasn’t calling to have a philosophical debate. I called to book a dinner date.” He took a deep breath and added, “I really liked where the last one ended up.”

A pause. “I—Oh, my dear boy, I would like that very much. If you’re truly certain.”

“Never been so sure of anything,” Crowley readily agreed. His grin spread so wide his cheeks ached with it. “And, Aziraphale?”

“Yes, Crowley?”

“If you don't want to send it back along to me, then I want you to hold on to it. I’ll take it back when I come over. Show it the love and care it deserves in the meantime, won’t you?"

“I beg your pardon?"  
  
“The Bentley, angel, keep up,” Crowley cackled, soon echoed from the other end of the line, as well. “I’ll see you at six?”  
  
“That would be just lovely, dear. _Thank you_.”  
  
Smug bastard. How Crowley loved him.

**Author's Note:**

> There is a distressingly absent amount of this particular flavor of crack fic that I could find when I search which means it might just be me! Help!
> 
> Joking aside, I hope you enjoyed this bit of nonsense! :D


End file.
